


thrifting

by Quillium



Series: spideytorch week 2k19 [6]
Category: Fantastic Four, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Spideytorch Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 13:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: Laughing a bit, Peter pulls on the sleeve of a mustard yellow hoodie, “Thoughts on this?”“Might clash with my hair,” Johnny wrinkles his nose.





	thrifting

**Author's Note:**

> Whenever I write a mom-friend type note I'm like "is this necessary?" and then I get like twenty comments being like "thanks for the reminder I haven't drank water in a week" and I die a little inside. This is a prelude to saying: if you haven't flossed when brushing your teeth you can't read this fic. Oral hygiene is important and comes before my fic. Haven't flossed for over two days? Floss. No floss, no fic. I don't know why I'm even typing this but apparently, some of you don't floss and I'm worried. I _thought_ my main concerns were hydration and sleep but apparently not. Children, take care of yourselves.

Johnny’s contemplating a disgusting barf coloured jacket with lime green flowers stamped on it when Peter finally gets the guts to ask why he’s decided to go on a shopping spree after a week of sitting around moping about the fact that his leg got shot.

“So I was on Instagram,” Johnny squints at the jacket.

“Uh-huh.”

“And there were some people with cool outfits.”

“Uh-huh.”

Johnny starts checking the god-awful jacket for pockets, “And I was thinking, I should be out doing something. In the sun. Before I decompose.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Johnny.”

“You think, but do you know?”

“That’s not—“

“Right,” Johnny continues to look at the jacket.

“For god’s sake, put down that hideous thing.”

“It’s not bad.”

“It’s clashing two shades of green that are disgusting enough on their own.”

“Lime green isn’t that bad.”

“If used skillfully. Which it isn’t, here. Put that back and at least have the decency to pretend you have taste.”

“Picky.”

“I’m a photographer.”

Johnny laughs and puts the terrible jacket back on the rack. Peter thanks everything that he doesn’t have to murder his boyfriend for having dumb taste in clothing.

“Try that red shirt. The sleeveless one.”

“Alright,” Johnny pulls it off the rack and holds it in front of his chest, “So I was like, if I’m going out, and I need more fabulous clothes, then I should just go out to get fabulous clothes, right?”

“Which is why we’re thrifting.”

“See, babe, you get me.”

“Mm-hm. Just because I know what you’re saying doesn’t mean I understand it.”

“You wound me.”

“The truth hurts,” Peter inspects the shirt a bit more, “You still own those black pants? The leather ones that you said looked like something from the 80’s?”

“Yeah.”

“You think this will look good with those?”

“This shirt feels a bit punk.”

“Yes, Johnny. Which is why I brought up the _black leather pants_.”

“They aren’t that punk.”

Peter waits.

“Oh.”

Laughing a bit, Peter pulls on the sleeve of a mustard yellow hoodie, “Thoughts on this?”

“Might clash with my hair.”

“For me, dolt.”

“You did not phrase that in a way that made it clear you were talking about yourself. I reached a logical conclusion.”

“You spoke stiff.”

“I did—I did not!”

“You did! It was cute.”

“Shut up.”

“My bad, my bad,” Peter laughs, “Sorry for calling you a dolt when I was the dolt.”

“Apology accepted. Hold out the sweater?”

Peter holds it up to his chest.

“The butterflies on the sleeve are cute.”

“Aren’t they?”

“But it’s kinda weird, too.”

“Picky, picky.”

“Like you aren’t?”

“You’re right,” Peter examines himself in the mirror and makes a face, “We’ll keep browsing.”

“You’re getting into it.”

“If we’re here, might as well enjoy myself.”

Johnny pulls out a polka dotted black dress shirt and holds it in front of his chest, “Scale of one to ten?”

“Eight.”

“Not bad.”

“We’re looking for a nine.”

“Ambitious.”

“As everyone should be with clothing,” Peter rifles through a few more outfits, “How’s the bullet wound?”

Johnny grimaces as he folds the red tank over an arm, “You’d think everyone would get tired of asking that after a week.”

“You’d think.”

Johnny presses a hand to his leg and winces, “It’s fine. You know. It’s healing. One more week and it’ll be good as new. It was just a flesh wound, you all were freaking out over nothing, honestly.”

“You fell from the sky, Johnny.”

“That was more because of the general bruising, I think.”

“Please stop.”

“You were the one who brought up the bullet wound,” Johnny sulks. He holds up a bright blue shirt with pastel pink leaves, “This one?”

“Seven or eight. What do you think?”

“I like it. It’s loud.”

“Just like you.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” Peter holds up a red and black leather jacket, “This?”

“Looks good. Very sexy.”

“I’m not sexy.”

“You can be cute and sexy. Like—like Harley Quinn.”

“Margot Robbie is the exception, not the rule.”

“That’s fair,” Johnny holds up a pair of plaid yellow slacks, “More punk clothes. Why so many?”

“The universe is sending you a sign. You should get a nose piercing.”

“Please no.”

Peter hides a cackle in his shoulder.

Johnny bites back a proud smile, “Maybe a tongue piercing.”

“Oh please don’t.”

“What, you don’t think it’d be sexy?”

“I think you’d cut your mouth multiple times trying to be bullheaded about it.”

“I am injured by your assumptions. _Injured_.”

“Are you?”

Johnny chucks a pair of bright red pants at Peter’s head, “You know what? I’m going to walk away from this conversation. Like a mature adult.”

“We’re adults? Since when?” Peter cackles as he holds up the pants, “I love these. What would I wear them with?”

“A black shirt.”

“No, that’d be wasting these pants.”

“You’re a menace, you know that? A real menace. Such a fashion snob. You could be fashionable among those snobby little six year olds with terrible taste in clothing.”

“Excuse you, I have amazing taste in clothing.”

“Not denying that you’re a snob, I see.”

“I’m an honest man.”

“Alright,” Johnny grins as he spots the perfect pair of pants, “I want _those_.”

“What—“ Peter catches sight of them, “Oh, they’re perfect.”

Rainbow sparkle pants. Pure rainbow. Pure sparkle. Possibly the most hideous thing on the face of the planet and Johnny loves it.

“I’m going to buy it,” Peter decides.

“What happened to having a sense of fashion?”

“I don’t care. These are perfect.”

“Alright,” Johnny laughs as he watches Peter hold up the pants, “Do I get the barf jacket, then?”

“No. Never.”

Johnny doesn’t get the jacket. Peter gets the pants. Overall, Johnny thinks it was a success.

(Up until Peter wears the pants to the next Avengers debrief and Johnny sees Captain America’s judgey eyes when Peter blames Johnny for getting them. Johnny dies inside and vows to murder his boyfriend.)

**Author's Note:**

> What is romance? Cannot compute.


End file.
